The Legacy of Zheph Skyre
by jdadragon
Summary: This is actually a story I made entirely up. It contains characters that I have made up on my own. It involves an inventor in a Mideval setting.


**Chapter****I**

**The Figure in Red**

We begin the tale here in the city of Heartogard, in the year 15000 AA of the Third Era. It is a fairly large city that is also the capital of Corthon. This is not a city that has ever been in our world. It does not exist on our plan of reality. It belongs to another realm much like our own. People live normal another world called Terra Geaya.

Heartogard's technology was that compared to the medieval era in our history. Swords, spears, bows and arrows, crossbows, catapults, and cannons made up the city's armory. There was no electricity, not even steam power used within the towering walls that surrounded the capital's boundaries.

Magic was a myth as far as the people knew. The only magic people considered to be real was anything that was performed in the city square, or anything that was considered abnormal or foreign to the people of the city.

Gigantic walls protect the city from outside invaders. It would take large funds to organize an invasion just to get past this stockade. It looms hundreds of large stones high in the air and is almost a hundred stones thick. There are the massive main gates that require ten strong men to unlatch the door, and the same ten strong men to open just one of the doors. This city is guaranteed to protect its citizens, but perhaps these walls obstruct too much.

A tributary passes through the heart of the city. This waterway flows underneath the walls of the city through huge metal bars. It even flows underneath the castle creating a moat to protect the monarchy from the common folk. Fish are among the only small enough creatures to pass through the bars to swim up and down stream. Fishermen are easily able to catch fish and earn a decent fee, however the stench of the remains of eaten fish has built up over the years. The fish waste is removed daily, but the poor houses suffer from the horrendous odor that seeps through the streets.

It was a simple day, a simple time in the city of Heartogard. The sun was setting over the horizon, produce of all sorts was purchased, and children were laughing and playing without a care in the world. This was one of the best days Corthon has ever had as far as the townspeople could remember. It was a normal day in a normal world. That is… if you overlook the major problems that have occurred under the rule of King Adam…

The monarchy government of Corthon was crumbling after existing for almost a full century, and Heartogard was the city to suffer the greatest. Taxation left numerous people unemployed, so stealing became a popular career choice. Unfair laws were passed in order to prevent thieving and other crimes. These laws were hard to enforce upon the criminals of the city, so crime continued to flourish. Some of the older folk remember the days when King Adam was kindhearted, and his majesty also was able to rule. Times have changed since the birth of the Three Princesses.

For years, thieves in Heartogard were individuals who looked after themselves. All of these thieves eventually banded together and became quite prevailing. They went by the name the Red Slickers, as they stealthily took anything they wanted. From fruit and bread, to gold and jewels, they stole for the sake of survival and pride.

One by one, buildings became abandoned. Not long after, these buildings began to slowly crumble to dust. The library, the courthouse, the school, scientist's halls, and even the church of the "Source of Light" were among these abandoned buildings. The King did not mind that organizations such as these were gone. He himself became judge over all crimes. He rid the city of further expansion of the mind. He took away their source of faith and hope. No one was courageous enough to stop Adam. In fact, many of the wealthier people of the city were completely loyal and obedient to him.

One problem lead to another, and the suffering appearedto have no end. It appeared that Heartogard, and eventually the rest of Corthon, would soon collapse into a land of complete chaos. But there is hope.

One person has the potential to bring the city of Heartogard back into the light of glory. This person is the one who will save many lives from sheer destruction. This person is the one who will begin a current of events that will enrich the country. And this person is the one who will be the needed hero. And all this person requires is the ambition to go into the right direction.

Deep within the abandoned public library in the corner of the shelves, a hooded figure in scarlet looms over an open book with a candle in one hand. On both sides of this person, there are piles of books, books that range from the theories of flying to the basic mechanic principles. Each one has been intricately read, and the important factors have been taken into notice. A journal with a continuous absorption of knowledge is kept close to the cloaked figure as he stays there reading. It has been hours on end since this has gone on for.

The figure notices the sunlight from the high windows almost reaching the ceiling. Decidedly, the figure takes the current book that was read and places it into a backpack to carry home. Then the figure rushes over to the wall, and climbs up the empty shelves all the way to the high window. There is no doubt, uncertainty, or fear within the figure's movement, only confidence. The figure quietly cracks opens the window, and pears out into the streets. When safety has been assured, the figure leaps to a large column close to the library walls. Before the figure falls to certain injury, the figure pushes his or her backpack against the wall with his or her feet securely against the column. Slowly the mysterious figure makes his or her way down the column while keeping a sharp eye on passing civilians. The figure is almost at the very bottom of the column when suddenly two armored guards walk around the corner of the library. They currently appear to be partaking in a conversation. The figure's pulse beats faster as the guards walk past the column not noticing an unidentified person sneaking out of the library. One of the guards stops in his tracks when he hears a faint sound of the figure stepping down from the column. He turns back to the column to find not a soul there.

"What are ye lookin' for?" the other guard questioned.

He turns away suspiciously. "Aww notin.' Aye jus a bout jumpy lawtely, thawt's all. So ye was sayin'…"

The figure slowly turns around the corner of the building across the street to see the guards making their way down the street. Relieved, the figure starts to run along the shadows of buildings as stealthily as possible.

The route is ever so changing for the figure, for guards are on the streets around almost every corner. The figure has to dodge the view of the guards into an alleyway, or behind a cart once in a while. A few of the townspeople notice this figure running amuck, but decide to let him pass since they can't identify the face. Thieves are always running from the law and never get caught, so the townspeople continue with their usual labor as if nothing is happening. There comes a point where the figure goes through the bag he or she carries to see if anything useful will help. The figure decides to go against using anything special unless his or her identity is given away.

The figure arrives at an alleyway where an old bum lives out the rest of his days in solitude. Some say this old geezer is completely insane, talking about the eventual disaster that will strike Heartogard. He says that the city has been far too ignorant about the outside world, and that the city won't be prepared in the slightest bit. People just ignore his ranting after the years rolled on. He has decided to not care about the majority of the populous, and so he has been outcast onto the streets, living on scraps and sheltering in throne out junk. He collects items from time to time, just to help take up his time. It has become a hobby of his of sorts, as it is a hobby for most others. The old man's stuff though is usually the most interesting. He has a gifted eye for scavenging, a gift the cloaked figure has taken advantage of.

"So you finally spare the time to show your face around these parts," the old man says to the figure as he digs through discarded debris. "Your movements are still too loud, as usual. You're not meant to be as stealthy as a fox."

"Hello to you too, Mr. Yemis," the figure replies from on top of the edge of the building above the old man. The voice that comes from the hidden face is a obviously a male voice, young, but strong. The figure jumps down to the old man from window sill to window sill until he reaches the ground. The figure firmly stands up and looks up at the old man. Mr. Yemis finally turns to look at him. There the figure stood, a few inches shorter than Mr. Yemis in a dark red trench coat that was sewn together from scrapes of red cloth and buttons. The coat included a hood that covered all but his mouth and chin, though the figure could see enough. On his back was a worn out backpack with metal wires sewn into it to keep it from falling apart. The What little else of the figure could be seen was his red pants under his coat that were cut down to fit him, some shoes that were made for a rich boy who outgrew him, and worn out white glows that covered his hands. His appearance led those who don't know him to believe he looked ridiculous. "Again, I come seeking a trade."

"Would you like anything to raise you off the ground?"

"I told you to knock off the short jokes!" the figure whispers angrily. There was also embarrassment in his voice. "Besides, I'm not that short! You're only about a speck taller than me."

"Yes, but I'm about to go rote in the graveyard! The only way I'm supposed to grow is to grow even older. You're practically an adult and yet you stand below the height of the average woman!"

The figure lifts his hand to rub his aching forehand under his hood from all of this nonsense. "Do you have anything to trade or not?"

"Your personality is as pleasant as the smell of this city. Even I can barely eat any more damn river fish! The stench of the garbage ruins my appetite! In fact, all the food I find in the garbage tastes like fish nowadays. I remember the times when food tasted like food, right about the time the walls of the city were built…ugh. What were we talking about again? Oh damn it, I'm trailing off again! You know how this business is run. I see what you have, and if I have been lucky, I'll show you what I might have."

The figure sighs. "One of these days we're going to change this type of business." Then he sets the backpack down beside him, and starts rummaging through it.

"Not if I die before then!" Mr. Yemis giggles to himself. As the figure looks through the backpack, Yemis tells him, "You're a good man, you know. I hope you're able to escape before this town is destroyed."

"There is no substantial proof in what you believe."

"Is there any in whatever anyone believes?"

"… No, there isn't."

"And you believe 'her.' Right?"

The figure freezes in his place for only a moment. "Yes, I do believe her."

"Then why don't you leave this dreadful place now? You should leave while you have the chance!"

"Because she's a prisoner… and I won't leave without… but we will be able to escape soon. You have my word."

Mr. Yemis's sigh tells the figure that he believes him, yet there is still worry in the sigh. Then the figure finds what he was looking for at last. "Well, here's a pot someone threw out. There's a sticky food that has solidified along the walls of it, but it's a really nice pot."

The figure hands the small pot over to Mr. Yemis. Thoe old man inspects it thoroughly. "Yes it is… All it needs is soap and water lying in it for a full day, and this mess will come right off." Mr. Yemis places the pot into his grain sack. "You have anything else?"

A smile spreads across the figure's face. He takes both hands and lifts something tiny from his bag. His gloved hands cover a surprise, and Mr. Yemis's curiousity has been struck. "I thought you might be interested in this…" The figure lifts his top hand to reveals wrappings. Slowly he peels the wrappings away to reveal a small metal figurine of a woman dancing. She wears beautiful festive dress, and there has been such detail in every part of her. There are tiny jewels that still have their shimmer in decorative designs on the dress. Even her hair is graceful, and the stand on which she dances is meticulously designed. "The metal is called peurter. It's a soft metal, so it's really delicate. I found it in that old, burnt down, abandoned mansion across the city. It has been almost perfectly preserved except for the crack in the face. You can see it here from her eye coming down past her cheek. I think it looks like a tear that belongs to such an emotional expression. Don't you?"

Mr. Yemis has a tear running down the side of his face himself. "Yes I do. It reminds me of my wife years ago, before she died…" The old geezer smiles happily. "You definitely deserve something for this!"

The geezer puts the figurine away into the sack and comers back with a few metal rods. "The blacksmith threw these out because some of them bent, and a few others have a bit of rust on the outside. I know that you usually can scrape the rust off of these and bend them to you're liking." He hands the rods over for the figure to look closely at. Then he returns to his sack to bring out a tiny leather sack. He opens it up to reveal a shiny, sparkling dust. "It's the leftover white diamond dust they shaved off of the king's lot. I know that normal people don't use such pieces for jewelry, but why do you use it?"

"It's not for the appearance, it's the fact that this crystal is harder than any known metal because of its atomic density. A sword made of this stuff would never break, and would be able to cut through anything except for another weapon made of diamond. The only problem with that theory is that such a blade would be quite heavy…"

"I can never follow that science talk of yours! I still think it is like magic."

The figure puts the leather bag and the rods away into his bag. "I can prove science with tests. I have never seen any proof of magic. I have seen books, and tried deciphering the 'spells,' but they don't work. As far as I know, magic doesn't exist."

"And yet, you believe 'her'…"

The figure turns abruptly to Mr. Yemis. "I have to admit that there are some things out there that have not been proven by science, but it will some day!" he says with a serious voice. "This talk of fairies, wizards, and dragons just seems improbable to believe!"

"Your opinion will change when you see the outside world as I have long ago when I came to this city. I'm not sure why this happened, but even this city flourished with the use of magic. Didn't your own family used to believe in magic? Your parents came here for their research didn't they? Why didn't your sister even…"

"That's enough about my family!" The figure shouts. He doesn't seem to care that he may give away his location. A sorrowful tear streams down what can be seen of the figure's face. "I'm sorry to bark out at you, but I feel tired now. It's been a long day. I'll meet up with you some other time…" He dashes off from the alleyway.

Just while the figure was about out of hearing distance Mr. Yemis calls out, "You better make our next meeting sooner, or else there might not be a next time." Once the figure is out of his sight, Mr. Yemis's pleasant expression fades. The worry in his soul bleeds out.

The figure in red once again runs in the shadows of the buildings. It is now easier to for him to hide in the growing darkness of the ever-approaching night. The only problem now is that businesses are closing up all around him, and the busy streets are dying down. Now he has move even more silently to sneak past the night guards.

His problem worsens as suspicious characters follow his movements in the shadows. These characters believe that the figure doesn't notice them at all, and so feel confident in their chase.

They have a hard time keeping up with the figure in red that takes a drastic route around the night guards. The characters have to keep out of the light projected from the ever-searching lamps the guards bare. Once they dodge the light, they have to keep up with the figure.

They manage to close on the figure just as he turns into a dead end alleyway. They know that there is no possible way of escaping once they trap the figure in there. The characters run into the alleyway after the figure.

The leader stops his comrades and declares to the figure. "Ha, Ha! We've caught you! Prepar ta be defeaded by da best of da…"

They all suddenly realize that the figure is not in the alleyway. The leader cries in disbelief, "What… What da Hel? Whar dat sonna bitch…"

They hear the noise of motion behind them. They turn to see a large carriage backed up sideways blocking their exit. They charge up to it to try to move it, climb over it, or crawl underneath it. But they are trapped like birds in a cage, squawking for freedom after just being captured.

Is outside, petting the heads of the horses he got to move the carriage. "Now you two stay here until the guards come over, alright?" He gives them some bread to eat before he turns around to leave.

Much to his surprise, thugs of all shapes and sizes surrounded him armed with swords, clubs, maces, spears, and some really cruelly designed weapons for gruesome torture. Men up high on the rooftops up above held bows and crossbows ready to fire. They were all grinning smiles full of lust for fighting on their dirty, scared faces. Even at his present situation, the figure in red did not allow these gangsters to see any fear.

A young man walks towards the inside of the center of the circle. The other goons allow him to pass with great respect. The figure turns to face this man as the thugs move out of his path. There stood a proud man of thievery, dressed in a roomy, black leather outfit, a cape flowing in the wind off of his back, his long, shiny, dark hair tired in a ponytail, facial hair only a sinful fiend would want, pale white skin of a living ghost, a masculine body trained to do battle, and dark brown eyes that could peer through an ordinary man's soul. He smiled anxiously while peering at the figure in red, "It's been far too long hasn't it, old friend?"

"This is a first, you're brought out everyone from the gang," the figure replies. "I am no longer your friend, and I have no business with you, Johnson Pugnaric! Take your gang, and leave me be…"

"That's no way to speak to an old acquaintance!" Johnson's voice is very agitated. "You say you think we have no current business and yet you address me by my full name. I hate that name. If you wish to truly be my enemy, than address my gang as the Black Dragons, and address me as the Ebon Dragon! We are more than a match for you, Red Pheonix, or should I say, Zheph Skyre!"

The cloaked figure slowly removes his hood, for there was no reason for his identity to be kept hidden anymore. The natural light from the fire-colored sunset revealed his facial features. He wasn't a handsome man to the city's people, for he was obviously born a foreigner to the city. His hair was long with an unusual blend of bright, red routes and blonde tips. A thin piece of twin held the hair in a ponytail that flowed freely in the wind on the back of his head, and his bangs hung over his yellow eyebrows. A strange type of eyeglasses, constructed not as much to improve vision as to help darken his sight of the world, blocked his eyes. These glasses were thin, copper frames that held circular, dark brown lenses. His skin had a light tan color, received from being outside of the castle walls exploring the surrounding forests in the bright sunlight for long periods of time. He held a calm expression on his face, not showing any fear or intimidation on his small, thin lips. The figure slides his glasses down his long, narrow nose revealing his eyes, the most profound facial feature. His eyes burned with the intensity of a raging inferno, ready to destroy anything in its path. The iris held a bright red color with a strong, motionless gaze. The majority of the gang that saw his eyes could not draw their attention away from such eyes. They stood trembling in their place. This was the face of Zheph Skyre.

"You did not need to give me such a nickname," Zheph replies. "I had already been known as a troublesome with an unmistakable appearance. I want to be left alone now, and thanks to you the whole city is after my hide! Though it shows that you still respect me as an equal…"  
"You're very welcome." Johnson says with a wide smile.

"However I do not hold any respect for any of these thugs, and I certainly don't hold any respect for you!"

The other gang members shook their weapons in outraged at Zheph's offense. They cursed at Zheph, and began picking up rocks to throw at him. The men with the crossbows and spears readied their aim at the short man until the order was to be given. Zheph merely stepped out of the path of the rocks that flew at his body. It seemed as if Zheph didn't know the definition of the word "fear."

Johnson stood glaring angrily at Zheph, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. "You should learn to respect those who have taught you the most valuable assets of life! I gave you plenty of opportunities to share the power I hold today, and you deny my offers still! You don't deserve to live!"

"I don't seek power!" Zheph corrected him. "It was always you who wanted power! That's why you wanted me in the first place, because you couldn't get anything done without the knowledge I have! You never really did care about how I truly felt. Tell me, was our friendship really a lie to you?"

Johnson could not speak. The memories of the past raced through both of their heads.

Years ago when Zheph was only a small boy, he could be found being forced to do hard, physical labor out in the prestigious tobacco fields of Sir Luther. There he picked the leaves by hand from before dawn past sunset. It was obligatory of him to work in the hottest of sunny days, in torrential downpours, and even during the strongest of winds. Zheph was given no sympathy of any sort by his relentless master.

He was among four child slaves Luther had managed to lure into the confounds of his mansion. There were more children who worked for Luther before Zheph came along, but each child died at a young age due to the cruel treatment and the harsh environment. They were forced to share the leftover garbage of the master's meals with the others. They were given only a run down shack with nothing inside but the dirt of the ground to sleep. The only clothes they were provided were the rags of the Master's youthful days. They were never able to take a proper bath besides the occasional drenching of ice cold water poured over their stripped bodies to conceal their odor. Almost every day they were beaten to remind them of their master's dominion over them before they were beaten if they ever slacked on duty. Luther's guard dogs always kept a watchful eye on them, and even the dogs were treated better than the children. The only times the Master was to ever take any of the children into his mansion and to treat them nicely was when he planned to rape them. Luckily, Zheph never suffered the indignity of Luther's perverted touch.

Even with the constant torment of Luther and his authority, Zheph was still treated horribly by his fellow laborers. With his odd red hair and his red eyes, he was considered an outcast. They called him a freak of nature and threw stones at him if he ever got close to them. Sometimes he would have to search for discarded food at the edge of the compound, and he would have to sleep outside. Nobody seemed to understand him.

Zheph could barely remember how he ended up in the hellish prison, but he felt determined to escape.

Before the age of eight, Zheph managed to formulate a plan to escape the farm.

"Well? Was our friendship just a lie to you??"

"Silence!" Johnson demanded. "You're correct. I don't care, I never cared. All we needed to do was survive. Now we can survive and be happy, but you chose the 'noble path.' I will not go back to the days of living in hunger again scavenging the streets! I refuse to live that way! And now you're getting in the way of my happiness, of the gang's happiness. And for what? A girl you met long after our gang was even started? I'm not going to let you ruin this for me! You are no longer wanted in my gang! You are to be wiped off the face of Terra Geaya!"

Zheph's fists tightened. "You ignorant bastard… You only care about your own needs, your own dreams! You don't care about me, the people you hurt, or even your own fellow Black Dragons! Don't you see? You're making a trail, a dark and terrible trail soaked in blood!"

Johnson couldn't think of any response to Zheph's statement. Zheph kept a hard emotional stare at Johnson's eyes.

"Don't be an imbecile! You're better than this! You see many people of Heartogard living their lives peacefully, and they're really happy. Why is that such a hard concept for you to understand? Why can't you just leave this entire city alone? Why…"

One large gang member decided to attempt to sneak up from behind Zheph as he made his speech. The thug slowly made his way across the open area towards his target. Zheph did not turn his head in any response. The brute held his club tightly in his hands above his head, ready to come crashing down upon flesh and bone. The rest of the hooligans smiled in anticipation.

"This is where you die!!!" he screamed cheerfully as he brought his club down towards Zheph's exposed head. To the foolish man's surprise, he hit only the stone street where Zheph stood only a moment previously. He searched for his target in his vision of sight. Only from his comrades did he understand that his enemy was still very close to him.

Zheph was now standing behind the empty minded brute. All eyes were amazed at the miracle of speed they just witnessed. "You might have great strength, but your movements are far too slow."

The thug shouted in anger, "I'll show you!" The gangster was afraid of his current situation, and in total desperation he tried to turn around and hit Zheph. But it was too late; Zheph jumped up and brought the edge of his hand crashing against the thug's neck. The thug fell down to the ground, losing his grip on the club and his consciousness.

Everyone went silent as they saw the easy defeat of a fellow comrade. No one was brave enough to move, except for Johnson who saw through Zheph's movements, and a mysterious figure that wore a shiny, gray cloak with a hood that masked his dark face in shadow. The figure stood behind in back of the crowd staring directly at Zheph .

Johnson threatened his men, "Either someone move, or else I will punish you all after this!"

The men began to quiver to the thought of further, twisted punishment from Johnson. Three men felt brave enough to charge for Zheph. One by one they swung their melee weapon at him as he dodged with swift movements of the feet. After the three men swung their weapons, Zheph ran up one of the men's back and leaped high above them. As Zheph arrived at the peak of his bound, he drew out a short, thick, metal rod and held it firmly in his grasp. During his decent, Zheph held the short rod with both hands, and he squeezed two long, black buttons with one hand on one edge of the rod. The rod extended at the ends to a length comparable to his own his own height. The rod's ends landed blows upon two of the three attackers' heads. As the two men fell as they lost consciousness, Zheph pivoted in midair and struck the third man on the forehead with the rod. The silence returned after the three attackers fell to the ground.

Johnson smiled as he suddenly realized his chance of ending this conflict. He shouted contentedly, "All ranged weapons, fire!"

A flash of fear entered Zheph's mind as he listened to those words. As the bowstrings were pulled and released, he quickly dropped his rod and lifted his arms to allow his sleeves to slide down. Johnson and the gray-cloaked figure were both surprised to see what was hidden up Zheph's sleeves, but the rest of the gang didn't notice it until the arrows stopped flying in the air.

After the firing of arrows stopped, the gang was speechless. Zheph was kneeling on the ground holding up his arms in a defensive position. On his arms were small, metal shields with rotating metal plates as long as his fore arms. The arrows appeared to have all broken from impact and had fallen to the ground harmlessly. Zheph pushed two buttons on the back of the shield to recoil them. He allowed his coat sleeves to fall down to cover his forearms again.

"So you kept those shields hidden up your long sleeves didn't you?" Johnson replied to Zheph from his observation. "I should have expected something suspicious about that jacket. You wore a jacket designed for cold weather in the middle of the summer. Normal people would guess that you made such a coat for flamboyant appearances, but you're really hiding some of your toys. Even with those small shields, you were still able to move quick enough to bloke all of the projectiles… But there is no point in trying to hide your wounds from me."

Zheph took another glance at Johnson and smiled. He stood up onto his feet slowly allowing his arms to drop down, revealing the scratches on the back of his neck, on his left shoulder, and a scratch on his right thigh. There was also an arrow shallowly submerged into his left boot. Droplets of blood trickled in these various locations.

Johnson smiled in his apparent triumph. "You all see! He is only a man in the end. He bleeds like the rest of us! Do not be fooled by his unpredictable tricks! Now my brothers, take up your arms once more, and today will be the day when the Red Pheonix shall fall! Archers! Ready your aim!" The archers each took another arrow out to fire once more and the crowd of thugs delightfully cheered.

"I'll offer you one more chance, old friend. Give up this charade. I know your moves. You might have been able to learn a few combat moves on your own, but none of them have surprised me. I taught you the most valuable things to learn in life. I have you surrounded by men ready to kill by my order, and you have that noble law you keep to yourself about not killing people yourself.

"Not to mention you're wanted by us, the law, and everyone in this town." Johnson slowly makes his way over to Zheph with a terrible grin across his face. He stands over Zheph looking down upon his head. "I can see that you're tired from being an outlaw, but it doesn't have to be this way. Come into my care, and I will teach you how to kill. It is such an easier path…"

Before Johnson can finish his speech, the sounds of various, small explosions are heard though out the city circle. Flashes of bright light appear from Zheph, and smoke fills the open area in the circle. The bows and crossbows of the archers break in their hands. A few of them feel a pain foreign to their understanding on various parts of their bodies, but they don't die from the pain.

The gang is filled with more fear than ever before as the smoke clears, and they see Zheph holding two metal weapons exactly the same, but shaped oddly. These weapons bare short handles meant for one hand combat. On the end of the handle is a mechanism of some sort with thin barrels parallel to his arm as he holds the weapons. Obviously these were projectile weapons of an improved kind, however, nothing like this has ever been seen before by the eyes on anyone in Heartogard. The most daunting part of these weapons were the two blades on each weapon that were on the top and bottom of the barrels which were designed for melee combat as well. Johnson was frozen in sheer terror at the awesome display of his rival's power.

"Do you like these? I call them 'blade cannons.' They're small enough to hide in my jacket, but their power is not to be underestimated… I could have killed your comrades if I truly wanted to, but you know my belief, that death should not be a choice given to man." Zheph slide these weapons back into the strange sheaths he kept them in. Then he reached for Johnson's collar and pulled him down so that they could see eye to eye. "I gave up that path a long time ago…"

Zheph then shoved Johnson backwards so that he would land on his buttocks. The gang started attacking repetitively one by one at Zheph. Zheph took up his metal staff once more and began to defend himself. Ruffian after ruffian began to fall to the ground unable to continue the battle as they approached Zheph. Though Zheph was quite a graceful combatant, he was having a difficult time. He was not capable of fending off so many opponents, and every so often a weapon of sorts briefly hit him. He struggled to keep his breath. The amount of blood loss concerned Zheph as he pondered to himself if he would even survive. But he didn't lose hope, he didn't back down, and he kept fighting to whatever end there might be.

Johnson couldn't believe his eyes. The person who once stood up to him has surpassed all of his expectations. "What in the Hell are you???"

The figure in the shiny gray cloak stared in admirably at Zheph's determination to survive. He began taking steps towards Zheph. He stopped his movement when he was about five feet away from Zheph, and screamed over the uproar, "ENOUGH!!!"

Everyone stopped fighting and stared at the cloaked figure. Even Zheph and Johnson kept their eyes on the figure. Members of the gang began to fearfully back away from Zheph and out of the figure's way. Zheph had a troubling feeling deep down inside of him as he watched the cowards keep their distance.

The figure stood tall over everyone's heads. His fingers appeared to be quite dark, darker than any known man in Heartogard, even those who work all day in the smoldering summer sun. The rest of his hands were wrapped in bandages, but they appeared to have almost been worn out. He wore sandals on his dark skinned feet, which were highly uncommon even to the poor in the city. What seemed most unusual about this man's appearance was the gigantic weapon he held over his shoulder. The handle itself was almost as tall as Zheph, and the skin of a large animal, most likely a giant bear, covered the rest of the weapon.

Johnson grinned as he got up to his feet. "Zheph Skyre, I would like you to meet the greatest warrior among us, Jahovac Magnarth, the Dark Goliath!" The cloaked figure removed the hood over his head to reveal his long, dark skinned face. Everything about his face was big. Large metal beads beaded his thick, black locks of hair. His large, dark brown eyes held a daring glance with thick black eyebrows over them. His nose was large and flat against his face, unlike any nose of the common man. His mouth was wide with thick lips that were above his large double, chiseled chin. His face was nearly perfect for a foreigner except for the scars on his left and right check and the scar on his forehead that all led towards his nose.

The dark man took off his shiny cloak and revealed his armored body. The silver armor he wore was simple in design with only a breastplate on his torso, vambraces on his arms, greaves on his legs, and sollerets on his feet. The rest of his body was tightly wrapped in the same worn out bandages he has on his hands.

"Whither in fear as this monster of a man devastate you!" Johnson boasted haughtily. "Witness the shear power this man holds! And he is under my control Zheph. If you thought fighting this weaklings were hard, wait until you face this…"

"That's enough from you." Jahovac ordered Johnson. Fear suddenly consumed Johnson completely. Jahovac walked past Johnson. "If you or any of your goons get in the way of my fight, you will certainly die…"

"How… dare you… say… that to me!" Johnson stammered. "Did you forget that I am the one paying you? If I die, than you're not getting a single coin-"

"Money is not the issue at the moment." Jahovac interrupted. Johnson was surprised. "Honestly, money is never that much of an issue to me. It's just an easier way to get food and weapon repairs. And maybe a little entertainment."

"You darn-"

"I have been bored for a long while with no one strong enough to face me. I've been searching for a person worthy to face me." Jahovac declared. He reached up to peel off the bear skin off of his weapon. Underneath the animal skin was a large, think double -edged blade about the size of Johavoc's own body. A smile slowly stretched across his face. "This man seems to have an interesting technique, and plenty of surprises. I only hope that he can last long enough to keep me intrigued…"

Zheph prepared himself for Jahovoc's attack by standing in a defensive position. Something is not right here, Zheph thought to himself. I know this man must appear strong, but how much destruction can he possibly make? He arms himself with a weapon of ridiculous proportions, but if it is made out of metal, it must mean he can't possibly move very fast nor swing it very fast neither. That means that all I have to do is dodge the slow attacks and attack whenever there is an opening. Johnson, you overestimate people at times…

Johavoc adjusted his standing position to prepare for a charging attack. All of the other gang members ran off to take cover behind close by buildings. Then Johnson began running towards Zheph. Zheph was amazed at the speed his foe was able to move at with such a heavy weapon. As the giant blade swung down at Zheph, he jumped towards his left, hoping to escape the crushing force of the sword. Jahovac's sword had such a powerful impact on the street that the stones that made up the street began to fly in every direction. The other gang members all moved their heads out of the way of the flying stones as they were trying to watch the battle. Five rocks back collide into Zheph. He hurt his head as he landed against a nearby wall. He felt dazed for a moment, and as he recovered he coughed up blood.

This isn't possible! Zheph thought. There is no way anyone can be this incredibly strong. It's inhumane!

Just than, Zheph noticed that Jahovac was charging at him again with a swinging attack from the side. Zheph ducked below the blade as it cut through the very wall he was leaning against. The sword got caught on something inside the wall, which gave Zheph his chance. He crawled away, for he was terribly afraid of this terrific, dark brute.

"Is this the length of your ability?" Jahovac questioned as he pulled his sword out of the foundation, and aimed the sword for Zheph as he charged for him. "Don't disappoint me!!!"

Zheph managed to roll out of the way of the sword as it stabbed the street. Unfortunately, the blade cut his leg and Zheph gritted his teeth as he gripped his leg in pain.

"Is this all you can do while fighting a man like me?" Jahovac snickered as he yanked the sword out of the ground. The building that he previously sliced into was beginning to crumble. "Pathetic excuse for a soul…"

Thugs began to run from the building they were hiding behind that was starting to collapse. The building slowly fell and broke into rubble. A cloud of dust began to spread over the entire area. It quickly covered Jahovac and Zheph completely. Zheph shielded his face to prevent the dust from going into his nose and eyes. He couldn't see more than two feet in front of his face.

As quickly as the dust came, so did it disappear as Jahovac began swinging his sword left and right at Zheph. Zheph was forced to run backwards continuously avoiding the blade. Jahovac kept his distance close.

"I can continue swinging this sword all night," he explained. "But if you mess up, you'll die at the end of my blade!"

Zheph's fear slightly adjusted into anger, and as Jahovac's sword swung away from him, Zheph began to charge at him while crouching. He took his extending rod out again and extended its ends.

"Too slow!" Jahovac bantered as he swung the sword low. In reaction to Jahovac's quick attack, Zheph jumped up, landed his foot on the sword as it sped by, and pushed off of the sword to achieve a higher height. Jahovac was a bit surprised at this feat. Then Zheph brought his rod smashing down on Jahovac's shoulder. Zheph sped off behind Jahovac and turned to face the results. Jahovac remained absolutely still.

"Quite a nice counterattack," Jahovac complimented. He began to turn around slowly and comfortably. Zheph was terribly surprised, for it seemed that Jahovac was unhurt by such an attack. Jahovac peered deeply at Zheph. "But you don't have nearly enough strength to take me on…"

Before Zheph could manage to create any length of distance between them, Jahovac took his arm and pushed Zheph down the street. Zheph slid for quite a few yards on his back before stopping. His panic overwhelmed his mind once again. Jahovac began to take steps towards Zheph.

I can't do this! He thought to himself as he struggled to stand on his feet once more. This guy is an absolute Juggernaut! My stunning attacks are useless on him, and he is about to kill me! If I continue to battle like this I will surely die, though there most likely won't be anywhere for me to escape, not against this type of man. I know I am able to defeat him, but at what costs. I don't want another life to be lost because of me…

"I'm sure delighted I am not you right now!" Johnson shouted from his safe location. He began to laugh at Zheph's predicament. "But do not fear, I will take care of the only few people who truly respect you after you die!"

The rest of the gang began to laugh at Zheph. He scowled as he turned his head to each face that hid in every corner he could see. The veins in Zheph's forehead began to pulse, his grip on his weapon began to tighten, and he began to growl. The laughter of the Black Dragons began to die down as Zheph got more and more angry. Johnson began to cower in fear at the new development. Jahovac halted his movement to gaze at Zheph's infuriated expression. His eyes scowled, his teeth gritted, and his face scrunched. Suddenly, large flames burst out of the ends of Zheph's rod as he twirled it around with his hand.

"I can not allow this to go on any further!" Zheph declared as he relaxed his mouth. "It's time I got serious. It appears I might have to kill you. Please forgive me, I did not want to have to do this!"

"Hmmm… Interesting," Jahovac analyzed. "Let's see if this is anything special."

What sort of weapon is that? Jahovac pondered to himself. Does he expect to burn me as he swings that rod? Surely he must not be that simple minded and think I will burn from a slight graze of fire. I have trained to walk through the flames of even the largest bonfires. No puny flames will harm me.

Zheph began to charge at Jahovac with him weapon spinning in his hands. Jahovac responded immediately by charging himself with his enormous weapon at his side. As they approached each other, it seemed to them as if time began to decelerate. Jahovac swung his sword with all of his strength at Zheph. Zheph manages to leap up over the sword, dragging the blaze of one end of his rod against the sword, and twirled the other end along Jahovac's right shoulder. Zheph landed behind Jahovac, rolling as he landed to soften the impact. Zheph hunched over, trying to catch his breath from the great expulsion of energy that was released in only a few seconds.

Jahovac slide as he stopped his feet. He laughed and turned himself to face Zheph once more. "Was that it?? Were you attempting to burn me with fire?? You are such a fool! I will not burn so easily with only a…"

Jahovac suddenly realized that there was a deep, long slice in his own sword. It was glowing a bright red, and heat was radiating from the slice. Impossible! He contemplated to himself. Not once since I've had this sword has anyone been able to put a scratch into it, and now it has almost been cut in half! How could someone do such a thing… with fire??

Jahovac's eyes shot open wide as great pain shot through his body. He gripped his right shoulder with his hand, dropping his sword to the ground. It fell with a thunderous echo. Jahovac fell to one knee. He felt a burning sting in his shoulder and a warm, thick liquid in his left hand. He looked at his shoulder and realized that he was bleeding heavily. Not only was his skin cut, but also the flesh was slightly burned as if the devil's sword had swung at him. The Black Dragon's were amazed beyond belief at the turn of events. Johnson could not fathom the reality of the situation. His best warrior, who he has never seen hurt was brought to his knee from only one attack.

It was then that he figured out what just occurred. "You damn bastard!" He screamed at Zheph. "That flare wasn't supposed to burn me! That was just supposed to hide the burning blades hidden in that stick of yours!"

"You're correct," Zheph pronounced. The flames died down and revealed two thin, long, glowing blades coming out the ends his rod. He slowly stood up and turned to his foe. "I invented this as a merciful weapon when I designed it. However, I had to make adjustments to this just in case I had to face the unimaginable. Unfortunately, you're the unimaginable…"

Jahovac lost his serene state of mind, and was in pure fury. He reached down to lift his sword, despite the incredible pain he had. The blood flowed out of his arm even quicker. "You are not supposed to be able to do this to me. I will kill you for this!"

He began charging for Zheph, when the Black Dragons abruptly blocked him. Men began to restrain him from moving any further. Jahovac struggled with the strength he had left, and screamed curses at them all. Zheph was terribly confused at the actions of the gang.

Johnson ran up to Johavoc's face and told him, "Your revenge has to be postponed! The city guards are coming, and we are not capable of facing them and this midget at the same time! Besides that, many of you require remedial treatment, including you Johavoc!" The town guards could be seen coming in their direction with torches and weapons. "We have to leave now!"

The Black Dragons scattered in every direction, attempting to escape imprisonment. Zheph was anxious when he discovered that the city guards were closing in on them, but he found his chance to slip away into the shadows of the chaos. Johnson turned his head to see him climbing up a dwelling, to the roof, and saw him disappear out of sight.

"This is not over… old friend…" Johnson whispers to himself. He slips away into the shadows along with as many of the gang members he could. The guards were able to find nothing more than rubble from the strenuous encounter and a few goons knocked unconscious. It was a sight to behold.

14


End file.
